Winter's Pain
by Fic99
Summary: Bucky is hurt bad, Clint finds him and brings him home where Cap, Bruce, and Tony try to save him. A bit angst-y. Originally a one shot, but now longer. Black Widow is in the last chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_Writing Prompt - Start with this line of dialogue "He was unconscious when I found him"_

 **A/N – OK, so this kind of turned out more painfully than expected – I seem to put Bucky through the mill whenever I use a writing prompt. I have no idea why. I can only apologise.**

 **Also, my Russian is almost non-existent, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to correct me – I won't be offended.**

 **This is a one-shot for now, but I might expand it later, I haven't decided yet.**

 **Author's Update - It's now longer than a one-shot**

* * *

"He was unconscious when I found him."

"Oh no," Steve breathed, starting chest compressions on the prone body in front of him, "Oh no, no, no."

"Who would do this?" Stark asked, turning to where Clint still stood in the doorway, covered in Bucky's blood.

Clint shrugged helplessly, "I went to where the call came from Tony. There he was," Clint took in a deep breath, "like that."

"Jee-sus," Tony muttered.

Bucky had never looked so pale, clothes torn, blood splashes painting him Communist red.

Steve placed an ear to his friend's chest, "It's beating!" he hollered, "His heart is beating!"

* * *

The call had come early, some garbled Russian in Bucky's voice. Some crying and moaning. The word 'Steve.' Stark had traced the cell's location, found it just a few blocks from where Hawkeye was out on recon. Barton had headed there ASAP.

"Shit," came over the comms when Clint found him, "This is not good guys."

* * *

Bucky's dreams were black-and-white, flecked with crimson here and there. His finger on a trigger. People screaming. The cold. The pain. People over him – hurting him.

There was fog then. Fog that Bucky could see a figure moving through. Steve?

The figure spoke, "Oh no, no, no," it said. And there was more pain.

When he surfaced from the fog, like kicking through a watery pool, there was still pain. There were people around him. Hydra? Did he have a job to do?

 _"Net,"_ he whispered, _"pozhaluysta."_

"Stark!" one of the people said, "He's awake!"

"Now?" was the answer, "Are you sure Cap? I hit him with enough anaesthetic to down The Hulk."

 _"Pozhaluysta,"_ Bucky muttered. He tried to clear his head. Why did everything _hurt_ so bad?

"Hey Buck," the first voice said, "Buck, come back to us."

 _Angliyskiy?_ English? Could he do English?

"Please," he murmered, grappling for the words. "No."

"No what Buck?" the voice asked.

"No hurt," Bucky whispered, "No more the hurt. Soldier obeys. Soldier complies. People do not the hurt need for soldier. Asset will obey."

A hand stroked his clammy brow, another held his flesh-hand, "No obeying," a calming voice said, "you're safe here. We're gonna take care of you."

* * *

"It was his metabolism," Stark said, "burned straight through everything I put in him.I've adjusted the levels and the chemical make-up, adding a few little quirks of my own. It should hold now."

"Is this stuff safe?" Steve asked.

"I think so...there isn't really much in the textbooks about a cryogenically frozen assassin with serum running through him and a bionic arm, y'know? Kind of flying by the seat of my pants here Cap," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair. "Now, me and Bruce need to prep for surgery...we _have_ to fix the internal damage Rogers, or he ain't gonna make it."

Steve nodded, looking lost, "Take care of my boy Tony," he said, "This country owes him that much – more, actually, but it's a start."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Turns out I couldn't leave it as a one-shot. There'll be at least one more chapter after this.**

 **Again, feel free to correct my Russian.**

 **Oh, and there's even stronger swearing now - just to warn you.**

* * *

Clint brushed passed Steve in the hallway, then stopped and doubled-back, pulling Steve out of his troubled thoughts, "Any update on Buck's status?" he asked.

Steve took a deep breath and ran an anxious hand through his hair, "In an induced coma. Stark says there's some brain swelling – he and Bruce want to give it chance to go down."

Clint hissed a breath through his teeth, "He's a fighter Cap," he said, "warehouse where I found him was wrecked to shit. He put up a fight, that's for sure. I..." Clint hesitated, "...I thought he was dead Cap – when I got there," he shuddered involuntarily, "there was blood _everywhere_ and I thought he was dead. If anyone can pull through this, it's him. And if anyone can find the bastards who did this to him, it's us."

* * *

Steve nodded, not meeting Clint's eyes, and moved away in a walk that closely resembled a march.

 _"Soldat!"_ a harsh Russian voice barked. The soldier moved forwards to be given his instructions, his mission.

But he was in Germany, wasn't he?

"Soldier!" the general hissed, suddenly in front of his face, "You and Rogers need to get on this one ASAP!"

"Yes sir," Barnes saluted.

"Just make sure he doesn't run too far," the General continued, "you know Iron Man hates it when Rogers has an asthma attack."

"Sir?" Bucky asked. He was suddenly a little dizzy.

 _"Zadinaye!"_ the HYDRA agent snapped. Oh, that's right, the mission...the Winter Soldier had a new mission, didn't he?

The Soldier's head hurt like hell.

"He's doing well Cap. No promises, but I'm hoping to bring him out of comatose in the next few days."

"Thanks Bruce," Cap nodded, his eyes never leaving his old friend.

Bucky looked so... _small._ His hair was splayed limply on the pillow. The bedding – plump and plush a la Tony's preference – dwarfed him. His skin was still oh so pale. His face looked thin. The sheets and blankets (they were trying to keep his core temperature up) hid his bandages. He would have a hell of a lot more scars after this. An IV was keeping him hydrated, a catheter was keeping him well-flushed, a monitor was keeping track of his vitals.

"The serum in his system's helping him Steve," Bruce assured him gently, "and he's getting the best care."

"Thanks Bruce," Cap said again. He turned to him this time, and flashed a watery smile.

"Get some sleep Steve," Bruce instructed, patting him on the shoulder as he passed.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, "sleep."

* * *

"You are kidding me," Steve's hands were balled up by his sides, he really wanted to punch someone.

Stark made a face but said nothing, looking up at the screen.

"When was this posted?" Clint asked, sounding too calm.

"This morning," Tony answered, "It's gone viral. Millions of people have seen it."

"Shit," Clint muttered.

Steve winced as the Bucky on Stark's big screen took another stab to the gut.

 _"Pozhaluysta,"_ Bucky was weeping, _"Steve. Pozhaluysta."_

Steve turned round quickly and slugged the wall behind them, knuckles cracking the plaster and sending splits outward from the impact point, "WHY!?" he bellowed, perhaps the loudest they had ever heard him yell, "He fought for this country -" another punch to the wall, "-suffered for this country-" another punch, plaster crackling to the ground like dead leaves, "- was _tortured_ and brainwashed because he was serving _this country,"_ he stopped punching, breathing heavily, "and some thugs – citizens _of this country_ – decide to damn near kill him for fifteen minutes of fame and some twisted political point. _**He's not a fucking 'traitor!'**_ He's a _hero."_

Clint took in a deep breath, "He dropped the f-bomb," he murmered to Tony.

"Yep," Tony replied, "and I fucking agree with him."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: OK, so this is the penultimate. Have another chapter brewing, and then that's it. I apologise once again for the many feels and the potentially incorrect Russian.**

* * *

The Soldier's eyes opened to a clinical setting and a blonde man. He hurt all over. Where was he?

"Bucky?" the blonde man asked. Man, this guy was _huge._

"Bu-cky...?" the Soldier asked back. His throat was dry and it was hard to talk.

"Take it easy on him," another voice said, belonging to a smaller man in a white coat, "I've stuck him with a lot of morphine Steve, _you_ wouldn't remember your name with that much in you."

"Noted Bruce," the blonde said, trying on a weak smile, he turned back to the soldier. "We caught them Buck, the guys who did this – they're awaiting trial. You just rest up and get fighting fit."

The blonde turned to go but the Soldier caught him by the wrist with his metal arm. The man was kind, and reminded the Soldier of...short grey pants and dusty alleys, babies crying and laundry hanging for storeys overhead. It made him feel... _safe._

 _"P-Pozhaluysta,"_ the Soldier said, then struggled through the pain and drugs for English, the words awkward and foreign-feeling, "Pl-Please... St-ay."

The blonde's eyebrows rose, the smile curling up just a little more, "Of course Buck," he assured him, his voice croaking a little on that last word, "You want me to stay, I'll stay."

 _"Da,"_ the soldier whispered.

His eyes closed gently. He felt the warm hand of the blonde man grasp his. He could sleep now. The blonde man would take care of him, would not let the bad people come back for him. Any of the bad people. The _Soldat_ did not want to be bad again.

He let the murmered voices of the blonde and the little man wash over him. _Da_ , he could sleep now – the blonde man would protect him.

* * *

"It's still a long road Steve," Bruce said wearily, "he's still pretty critical. That's without the chance of infection...and I can't assess the nerve damage until he's stronger, not to mention the trauma..."

"I know," Steve replied, gently clinging to the hand of the man in the bed, willing his strength into his friend, "but he's alive Bruce, there's hope."

Bruce nodded, saying nothing more. His throat felt strangely tight for a moment or two, and he swallowed to clear it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Well, here it is – the last part of Winter's Pain. Again, I can only apologise for the feels, the potentially incorrect Russian, and the swearing (this time potentially incorrect Russian swearing!) Hope you all like it, and I always welcome constructive reviews.**

* * *

Bucky was breathing hard in the back of the limo, flesh fist clenched next to metal fist. Steve couldn't see his eyes behind the shades and baseball cap they had given him, but knew his friend was anxious. The limo pulled to a stop, and a killer redhead (in more ways than one) opened the door next to them, bringing a much-needed smile to Bucky's face.

 _"Zdravtvuyte miz Romanova,"_ Bucky said.

 _"Privyet Zima,"_ Nat answered back, grinning softly, and climbing over Steve to sit down on the wide back seat next to Bucky.

"Ma'am," Steve protested, blushing, as she clambered her way through, "If you would've been willing to let me get out for you..."

"No time for that Rogers," Widow replied, "We gotta get this show on the road."

Bucky laughed, low and hesitant, as if he hadn't done so for a while. Natasha threw an arm around his shoulders easily, "Tony's meeting us there," she told them as the limo started up again.

* * *

When they got there, Steve got out first to the throng of the microphones and cameras being pushed back by black-suited security guards, followed by Natasha, who immediately lent back into the car. She pulled out and set up the wheelchair as if she did it every day, and gave the discreetest of assistance to Bucky as he hauled himself along the seats, out of the limo, and into the chair.

 _"OK_ _Zima_?" she whispered, just audible over the clamour of questions being hurled at them.

 _"Da,"_ Bucky answered, though his jaw was set in a tight line, and his hands were gripping the arms of the chair perhaps a little too hard.

Natasha pushed him to the disabled ramp outside the courthouse, Steve sticking close to them and throwing the occasional 'No comment' back at the reporters.

Out of the melee came jarring shouts of, "Down with the traitor! Down with the Winter Soldier! Down with HYDRA!"

"Hey!" Steve yelled, stopping short and trying to discern the speaker in the middle of the moving mass, "How dare you!"

"Steve," Widow hissed, "Leave it."

"But..."

"No, Steve," she replied, she motioned down at Bucky, sat stiffly in his wheelchair, breathing more and more heavily, "We need to get inside, with as little fuss as possible."

Steve nodded curtly, "Affirmative Ma'am," he said.

It had been Stark's idea that Miss Romanoff come along, and Steve had to admit that it was a good one (although, he didn't appreciate Tony referring to Bucky's language barrier as 'KGB Mode.') Miss Romanoff was a level head in a crisis, Buck trusted her, and it did help to have someone around who could explain things to him in a language he had thought of as his mother-tongue for decades. Plus, and he was darned if he knew why, but, Natasha had taken to Bucky from the moment they had pulled her in to translate – she could be darn-near maternal sometimes. Though he'd never say that out loud because he liked his anatomy the way it was currently arranged.

* * *

 _"Dezinformatsiya,"_ Bucky whispered bitterly from his seat in the front row of the courtroom.

 _"Da, i diskriminatsiya,"_ Widow agreed.

Steve didn't have to know the translation to know what they were talking about. The prosecution had finished its opening statement (pretty cut-and-dry as the defendants had actually videod themselves assaulting Bucky, and then posted it on the internet,) and now it was the defence's turn – which it turned out was a scare story of an out-of-control Russian assassin for a terrorist organisation, with dangerous contacts in US security (the defence lawyer had looked pointedly at the spectacle of the Avengers in the front row. It didn't take a genius...) Even if the jury didn't lap it up (and a few at least looked like they were giving serious consideration,) the media would dive on it like a shark to blood.

Bruce ducked out, looking a little tense. Bucky watched him go with confusion, until Nat whispered something to him and he seemed to get that it was because Banner _cared_ that he had had to leave.

The men on the defence side were big guys, wearing khaki jackets with swastikas on one shoulder and American flags on the other. Just looking at them made Steve feel sick.

* * *

The recess for lunch couldn't come quick enough. Steve was surprised to find Tony at his shoulder on their way out of the courtroom, "I wanna tear those vultures a new one," Stark hissed.

"I was thinking similar thoughts," Steve grimaced, "but we have to trust to the justice system Tony."

"For now," he replied.

"Buck!" Steve called out to where Natasha had halted in front of them, Bucky was slumped in his wheelchair just beyond her.

"He's OK," Widow assured Cap as he edged his way through to them, "just feeling a little light-headed."

Buck looked up, looking pale and tired, "Yeh Steve," he whispered, "sorry if I scared ya. _Natalia_ told me to put my head between my legs."

"No bother Buck," Steve answered, smiling gently, "the lady knows what she's talking about."

"Damn straight!" Clint quipped from behind him.

Ignoring him, Steve continued, "You sure you're up to this?" he asked.

Bucky gave a watery smile, "It's something I need to do Stevie," he said, "and I've already promised _Natalia_ that I'll sleep in my chair if I have to."

"Might not be such a bad idea," Stark put in from behind Clint, "might make it easier to paint you as a victim in the press."

 _"Chto?"_ Bucky asked wearily.

 _"Pokazhyvayte vashi stradaniye,"_ Nat struck in, then, to the bemused team she added, "I told him to play the victim."

"Won't be too hard," Tony piped up, "he already looks half-dead."

"Thanks," Bucky muttured, but there was a curl to his lips, _"Mudak."_

Widow smirked, "Well, he's got your number Stark."

* * *

Bucky lost little time in taking the advice given. If asked, he would've claimed that he was a good actor. No-one asked because they knew he wasn't acting, just letting his defences down. He dozed in the wheelchair, head lying back against the cushioned headrest. Occasionally his legs or his arm twitched of their own accord – a reminder of the nerve damage. His wan face and sweaty brow was catnip to the cameras and the reporters. His involuntary wimpers when the video was played as evidence was lapped up by the same.

He would walk again. Maybe not for a long time, but he knew he would walk again. Bruce thought it could be done. Stark said that if it couldn't then he's find a way to make it happen. Steve just told him he'd be there. It was this that brought him most comfort.

He dropped in and out of sleep – much as he did most nights – but here, in the middle of this courtroom, he was blissfully without dreams of killing and orders and pain. Instead, he fell mainly into a sort of day-dream of a little blonde boy playing marbles with him in the street, of small faces pressed up to shop windows, of short pants, and crying babies, and laundry swinging overhead. He watched faces half-forgotten and conversations half-remembered, and let his mind follow the blonde kid through the memories and the years... _"_ _That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight...I'm following him."_


End file.
